


Asks for It

by fms_fangirl



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Other, Present Tense, Slut Shaming, William is NOT the villain, Workplace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-24
Updated: 2015-10-24
Packaged: 2018-04-27 22:07:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5066212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fms_fangirl/pseuds/fms_fangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone believes the worst of Grell.</p>
<p>Non-con takes place off-page, but better safe than sorry - hence the Archive Warning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Asks for It

**Author's Note:**

> I found myself wondering if anyone would believe Grell if she made an accusation of assault.

She applies her make-up heavier than usual – concealer to cover the dark circles under her eyes, foundation extends down her neck to hide the livid bruises that show above her collar, careful contouring to disguise the slight swelling of her jaw. A triple layer of mascara detracts from her swollen eyelids and a feathery dusting of the blusher brush makes her pallor disappear. She grins at herself in the mirror, her expression bold and fierce. The mask is in place; the mad crimson reaper is ready to face the world.

Her raw and scraped elbows and knees still hurt; her ribs still ache; she is sore inside and out, but she sticks her chin out defiantly and strides into the office.

He told, but she knew he would. They always tell. She is sure she sees money exchange hands, but conversation ceases whenever she walks by. Her colleagues’ voices are overly bright and artificially cheerful when they speak to her, but they cannot restrain their knowing smirks or the disgust that lingers in their eyes.

Even Ronnie. “Wild night, huh?”

She laughs shrilly and her lips curl into a false smile. “No more than usual.”

When would she learn to beware of the nice ones? The ones that paid her compliments, fussed over her and made her feel desirable and feminine for a few moments – until they were alone.

She goes to Management and fills out a complaint. The clerk smiles insolently at her and shoves it into a thick file. She can hear the words, “He asks for it, you know,” following her down the corridor.

She fought back once; was disciplined and demoted for injuring a colleague.

She takes a double shift in the hope that she will be too exhausted to do anything but sleep on her return, but his lingering scent drives her back to the office before dawn.

William appears in her office. She raises her head from her desk to peer wearily at him.

“Agent Mason has lodged a complaint against you. He claims harassment and a malicious accusation. There is to be a hearing.”

Another hearing; another round of humiliating questions.

“Do you deny that you flirted with Agent Mason?”

“Do you deny that you had both had a great deal to drink?”

“Do you deny that you invited him back to your home?”

“Do you deny that you welcomed his advances?”

_Do you deny that you are a freak who will do anything for attention or affection?_ She knows that is what they are really asking.

She denies nothing. Her own defense sounds implausible – even to her. The man-crazy Grell Sutcliff would never say “That’s enough”; would never say “I want you to leave”; would never say “You’re hurting me. Please stop.”

William’s face is unreadable, but the others cannot hide their distaste as she withdraws the grievance and surrenders her beloved Death Scythe.

He joins her in her office twenty minutes later. “You will be placed on desk duty and office work for the next three weeks for filing a false complaint.”

Slow tears begin to run down her face. She knows she looks anything but attractive when she cries, but the _unfairness_ of it all overwhelms her as she buries her head in her arms and sobs.

“Agent Mason will be sent to Scotland for the next few weeks,” William says. “There’s a vicious pack of demons active up there.”

Grell’s head snaps up and she stares at him in amazement. “We’ve already lost two agents to them.”

“Unfortunately, I have no choice,” he continues as though she had not spoken. “The Dispatch’s most skilled reaper is currently under suspension.”

His expression is impenetrable, but he passes her a handkerchief just as she glimpses Agent Mason, glaring at her through the window of her office door, on his way to an almost certain death sentence.

William’s hand rests on her shoulder for an instant. “Grell, I believe you.”

**Author's Note:**

> I don't usually beg for feedback, but this is my first attempt at something of this sort and very dissimilar to what I normally write. Constructive criticism is welcome.


End file.
